There I was, making my bed when I discovered a half dozen more magazines I’d hidden under the side I sleep on. Of course, I just had to glance into the contents in each to find out if there were any interesting articles I could, perhaps, use in my column.
One of the articles talked about the Apple Computer Company making a fancy wristwatch that did everything but reach out and burp your baby. I burst out laughing. Don’t those people know that Dick Tracy had a wristwatch like that back in the 1930s? Then there was an article written by a man whose wife had volunteered to go to Mars and be part of a new colony some time in the future.
Can you imagine the thoughts that went through that guy’s head? Here’s a woman, actually volunteering for this mission, knowing and agreeing that she would never be able to return to earth. This nice man understood, or so he said. I kind of wondered just what kind of a marriage those two had? Could it be so bad she couldn’t wait to leave, or so bad he was looking forward to that space ship taking off?
Of course, when those astronauts and all of those volunteers who think they’re going to be the first people on Mars, they’re sorely mistaken. We “seasoned citizens” know Flash Gordon got there in the 1940s. Anybody over the age of 60 already knows that! I guess today’s youngsters just never got to see all of those great movies back in “the day” like my generation. Perhaps someday they will? At least I hope so.
Right now I’d like to say some sincere thanks to a few people all of which are way overdue. First, to the nice man who bought my dinner one day last week at a local oriental restaurant. I’ve forgotten his name — after having a large size glass of sake that kind of memory lap happens. My son Doug — not an oriental food fanatic — had eaten elsewhere down the street and came to pick me up.
Just then that gentleman paid my bill. I thought this was an especially nice thing to do for a complete stranger since it was my 91st birthday. Once again, thank you kind sir, it will long be remembered. Then there was the E-mail sent to me via my son’s computer. It’s how I get my correspondence. This letter came from a nice lady named Maggie, herself a published author, who talked about my writing my books.
Maggie, I haven’t forgotten about you. I do thank you for your kind words.
Then there’s my friend Beverly who lives on Bottom Road who keeps in touch with me via the mail. I love your cards, sweet lady and thank you again for keeping in touch. I look forward to hearing from you. Today, as I sit writing this, is the celebration at Tedford Tires. I wish we could have gone.
However, neither Doug nor I are feeling well enough today. It’s been one of those days when I’ve been having a weak spell. I often have these, and when this happens I simply have to take it easy. And Doug has been suffering with both his knee — the one that was operated on — and trouble with allergies that has had him almost sleepless.
To Ken Tedford and employees, we wish them the best and congratulations.
How I wish we could’ve had a hot dog and soda with all of the other best wishers.
This morning as Doug and I were having breakfast, we talked about Fallon and Churchill County and what it means to live here. We don’t have other family to lean on in bad times, and we have really had our share lately. Fortunately, friends came from everywhere to help me during Doug’s near fatal illness.
We’ll never forget all who helped for your love and kindness. One of Doug’s physicians told him last week, that had he not been in the great physical condition he was when he got ill last Thanksgiving, he would more than likely not made it. I lived through that terrible time, but all of you fine, wonderful friends and neighbors were there every second of every day and I will never forget that special kindness.
I have lived all over this country, and believe me when I say that Fallonites are the finest, kindest and most thoughtful people anywhere. God bless you all.
Edna Van Leuven is a Churchill County writer and columnist. She may be reached at email@example.com.